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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913013">That Which Matters</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheWayMae/pseuds/AllTheWayMae'>AllTheWayMae</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blyla and Fam [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(nothing graphic) - Freeform, Brothers care (when they pretend they don't that is in fact a lie), F/M, Favors, Friendship, Gen, Injury Recovery, Jedi, Pre-Blyla (basically), Some time at the temple, Worry, Younglings, brothers being brothers, learning, mild hurt/comfort I suppose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:33:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,500</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26913013</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheWayMae/pseuds/AllTheWayMae</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your Commander Bly seems to think you’ve done enough,” Depa comments when Aayla’s comm buzzes a third time - or was it fourth? </p><p>“Yes. He does”</p><p>[Aayla would have liked to meet Wolffe under better circumstances, but at least Bly trusts her with a favor.]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>CC-5052 | Bly &amp; Aayla Secura, CC-5052 | Bly &amp; CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura, Depa Billaba &amp; Aayla Secura</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Blyla and Fam [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1944805</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>That Which Matters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s not indulgent. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Not one bit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It’s pragmatic. Educational, even. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Or so Aayla tells herself right up until she dramatically falls to the ground and lets three younglings pile on top of her with <em>whoops</em> of triumphant glee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It... may be a bit indulgent.  </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> After presenting her latest report to the Council, Aayla had let her feet tread toward the Creche. This is a habit she’s formed in the last year or so. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> According to Master Yoda it’s a sign that she may soon be led to her own Padawan.  Far be it from her to question the elder Jedi, but the suggestion ...stirs a lot of emotions within her.  Not all bad. But not all positive, either. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Each of which she will need to address before she feels prepared to take on the training of one of the young ones. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Something she suspects - <em>dare she say hopes?</em> - will not be until after the conclusion of the War. Until then, she’ll satisfy her concern for the next generation by helping teach her peers’ Padawans and by visiting the younglings whenever she is on Coruscant. Though it may pale in comparison to the bonds formed between true Padawans and masters, it feels important. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Not to mention incredibly, <em>wonderfully</em> light. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What do you think of their form, Master Billaba?” Aayla lifts her dancing brown eyes to the other woman. </span>
</p><p class="p4">
  <span class="s1">Depa is on a stay-over here on Coruscant and had been working the students through Shii-Cho movements before Aayla came along. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Hmm. Eagerness won out, I think,” the other woman’s smile was wide and bright despite interruptions. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Caleb Dume, however, is wearing a frown. Aayla isn’t certain whether it is faux or not.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Depa has said that the battalion adores her new Padawan.  He’s younger than most but allegedly bright and mindful.  Apparently the troopers’ only complaints revolve around the fact that he looks far too small and precious - Commander Grey has vowed to help train him up to snuff.  Right now he mostly just looks a bit stuffy...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I was teaching them something <b>important</b>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Ah. Yes.  He’d been one of them not so long ago, hadn’t he? Of course he is enjoying his station above the current younglings <em>just a little</em>. Or more than a little, possibly.  Can’t blame him there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Pride, Caleb,” Depa chides gently though her smile lingers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The boy sighs, a weight of misery dropping upon his slight shoulders. Perhaps this is a lesson  they are working through. Even so... </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Ah, he’s not wrong...” Aayla rolls to her feet now that the children have clambered off her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Caleb beams.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Shii-Cho will be some of the first forms they practice once they get their sabers, and developing muscle memory now is essential ...she shouldn’t have interrupted, really.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Do <b>you </b>know Shii-Cho, Master Secura?” the young Rodaian, Pitto, asks with no small amount of excitement. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> For all of his importance moments ago, Caleb now looks absolutely aghast at the suggestion that a Jedi Knight may not know a lesson he, <em>a Padwan</em>, had been teaching. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of course she does!” his eyes pop wide. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Meanwhile, Aayla only laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Perhaps she ought to prove it,” Depa suggests and nudges Caleb forward because she’s a filthy instigator. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Always has been. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And Aayla <em>so</em> likes to rise. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Now there’s an idea,” she flips her saber free of her belt.  “I should make sure your Master’s been teaching you all she knows….”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla watches with delight as Caleb’s face cranks into consternation, then flickers down to nerves... before revving back into something more neutral. <em>Determination</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Only when he lights his saber does Aayla follow suit. The younglings are swift to murmur in appreciative awe, and soon they’re tittering between themselves.  If Caleb can hear them predicting his immanent and fiery demise he plays ignorant quiet well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> All of his focus is on Aayla, anyway, and so she grants him hers in return.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla has had the honor of witnessing many Jedi Masters educate and mold their Padwans.  Each has their own style of teaching and, for the most part, are free to train as they will.  For better or worse the methods Aayla knows best are Quinlan’s: developmentally fair, but never ever <b>easy. H</b>e’d supported her, but she’d had to earn her wins. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> So she lets Caleb press the offensive in order to calculate a quick assessment of where he’s at.  She doesn’t go soft for him but doesn’t force him to retreat, either.  Especially not in front of the younglings...and maybe Depa would call that encouraging pride but Aayla calls it hedging shame.  There’s a difference. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Caleb is overzealous, which leaves him open at inopportune times, but he’s nimble and rather observant so--</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>Bzzerp</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla lifts a fist in hold and checks the comm on her wrist that Tink had recently helped her update.  He’d repurposed some pieces of a full gauntlet, so technically the troops can now say they got her to wear <em>proper</em> armor and pat themselves on the back for it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Problem?” Depa takes a step forward onto the mats. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> “...no,” Aayla guesses after reading the </span> <span class="s2"> <b>Private Message From CC_5052</b> </span> <span class="s1">notification. “That will be the day’s update from The Liberty. They’re still out in the Batonn sector...I just like to keep up.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Master Billaba says delegation is a form of balance,” Caleb recites, his smile overly benign.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And, <em>oh</em> she sees how the 226th is teaching him to weaponize his current natural strengths. Weaving sass into such innocence.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But he’s not wrong, and Aayla commends wisdom where she sees it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...smart of her.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yet she twirls her saber in her palm and motions Caleb back into play. They’ll see how far his peskiness gets him.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Caleb is sweating and Aayla is quite enjoying herself when they’re interrupted again by a more insistent alert on her arm:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>Bzzp. </em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em> Bzzp. </em> </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b> <em> Bzzp.</em> </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> That’s someone trying to establish live communication this time around. Curious, she motions once more for Caleb to hold.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <b>Incoming HoloComm from CC_5052</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Hmm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla doesn’t even realize she’s frowning until - <em>znk - </em>Caleb disengages his saber and steps back.  Then Depa’s standing from the edge of the mat where she’d been sitting with the younglings and offering quiet commentary on the spar.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Aayla?,” she approaches, her tone slightly softer than her more formal calm with the little ones “What is it?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Noth -- well, I can’t be sure,” Aayla forgoes her automatic and possibly disingenuous reply. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> There’s no need for empty assurances between friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Then take your time,” Depa’s nod is definitive before she twists back toward the younglings. “To dinner with us - it’s past time.  Come on, come on...” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> While she ushers them around, Aayla heads in the opposite direction for a quiet alcove where she can thumb in her comm’s passcode.  The buzz of the call has stopped, and she scrolls to the original message, which simply reads: </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>CC_5052 [Bly] to: Private Message<br/>
</b>Is the meeting a wrap? All clear here. Return call ASAP<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She blinks and takes a moment to sift through the words. Bly usually gets straight to the point, but this message is non specific...which makes it feel somehow urgent. Worry churns at her gut for a moment. Never mind that he’d specified all was “clear.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla breathes the anxiety away and then taps to reopen the comm line. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He must have been waiting because the transmission connects with hardly a pause.  His blue form flickers to life, helmetless but upright with his shoulders back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Bly?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘</em><b><em>Sir</em></b><em>’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m alone”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The Jedi don’t use anything so formal as rank or title amongst one another, but she knows Bly won’t greet her casually if he suspects she’s with her Temple peers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘Me too,’</em> </b>his shoulders loosen, and he drops to sit and hunch in over his knees toward his comm. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It’s such a casual stance. Tired.  This and the lack of ambiance noise suggests to her that he is holed up in his personal quarters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “What’s happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Something</em> had - that much she knows. They may not enjoy parting one another’s company and putting half a galaxy between them, but that is their duty and isn’t the sort of burden that would have him calling her in a huff.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘The Liberty is fine,’</em></b> he repeats his promise as if she could ever believe he’d lie about that. <b>‘I...I just have a favor to ask you...’</b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>O-ho</em>!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Bly falters over the ask.  Or, rather, he hasn’t even come right out with a direct request yet.  He glances away and shifts his shoulders. Uncomfortable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla, on the other hand, perks up.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Her relationship to Bly outside of strict work - nebulous as it may currently be - is already stretching regs.  No question about that.  Even so, his trained deference to Jedi is deeply ingrained; they move slowly toward and around each other precisely because parts of it are hard to shake.  Enough so that his choosing to come out of his way and ask her a favor downright <em>tickles</em> her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Yes?” she tries not to sound too delighted in the face of his difficulty. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘I, well ...I communicate with some of the other Commanders on a regular basis. You know that.’</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Indeed she does.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> In particular, he keeps in touch with his clutch of batchmates.  They’re all Commanders of their own regiments now, spread across the galaxy and only occasionally weaving in and out of one another’s orbit. He’d first told her about it after she caught him snickering into his wrist and she’d hoped to be let in on a joke because they had been knee-deep in reports and<em> goddess knew</em> she could have used the distraction! He’d tried to explain - truly he had-  but it was soon clear the joke was the sort of story one needed history to enjoy. “Just banthashit, really,” he’d shrugged.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She’d smiled.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Bly had gotten a smidgen bashful.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I do,” Aayla nods him on, equal parts keen and dubious now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘...just got a report that Wolffe ran into trouble out on Khorm.</em></b><em>’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla heart clenches. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Wolfpack.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...I heard Master Plo needed reinforcements.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But she hadn't known... </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Bly grunts.  Nods. Is staring off somewhere around the floor, now.  She’s sure that he wishes the 327th had been the backup summoned. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> If they were together Aayla would’ve asked to skim his thoughts so that he didn’t have to find the right words just now. As it is, distance dictates that she can only feel a general, roiling sense of darkness from him. She leans into the sensation but there isn’t quite enough of a connection - not yet - for her to be sure he’ll feel the affection and warmth she tries to push his way.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...tell me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He glances up.  Then down again to pull himself together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘That assassin witch</em></b> <b><em>was there,’</em></b> his tone <em>scrapes</em> low and dark.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b></b>...Asajj Ventress? <em>Well</em>. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ‘A whole bag of dicks’ - is what Zig would call that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla sends hope to the Force and stays mum, however.  Just takes a deep breath.  She hasn’t had the -erm- <em>pleasure</em> to come face-to-face with Ventress yet but has heard enough stories and studied enough footage to know her meetings never have a pretty ending.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘</em><b><em>Sliced him up pretty good, they’re saying,’ </em></b>Bly goes on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’d said he’s aiming for a favor. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla’s already trying to count how many troops of theirs are healing up on Kaliida Shoals. It’s possible she could justify sending Bly to check on them and transport whoever is ready back to The Liberty.  That’s not normally a task necessitating a Marshall Commander, but she’s sure she could come up with a reason ...morale, perhaps?  Sure...certainly it would do the men good to see their XO.  To know he cares and they haven’t been forgotten. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yes.  Yes, she can do that.  Easily.  The clearance would take mere seconds. If any of the Kaminoans - the longnecks (the men don’t yet like her to know they name-call their creators but, alas, <em>Jedi</em>) - take issue with it they could answer to her and---</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b> <em>‘He’s at Coruscant Medical now,’</em></b> Bly finishes, which brings an end to her plan. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> ...is he now? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> That is an Eeopie of a different color, then, isn’t it? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I see”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘...normally we’d try to get Fox in there, but he’s on Naboo with the Chancellor...’</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’ll go visit him tonight,” she understands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘Only if you don’t have--’</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I would be happy to”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘Just. I know you like to spend time with the younglin--’</em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bly,” Aayla stops him again with delicate intonation of his name. “Look at me...” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It’s difficult to get eye contact <em>just right</em> through a hologram, but he stills and tries when she asks it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of course I’ll check on him”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘...thank you.’ </em></b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’d do the same” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> This isn’t a question, for she knows it to be true.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘Of course I would,’</em></b> his gentle confirmation comes anyhow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla enjoys the quiet that follows.  If the way his pinched eyes gentle a fraction is anything to go by, so does Bly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...would you like an ear a little longer? Or should I get moving?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The corner of his mouth twitches and he sits himself up a little more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b><em>‘Beat feet,’</em></b> he tries to command her, then snorts and adds, <b><em>‘...sir.</em>’ </b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla laughs.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Good enough. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> They’ll get better at that. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> This isn’t Aayla’s first trip to Coruscant’s vast medical facility. She doesn’t like the place much. Well...she never likes <em>any</em> hospital much, filled as they typically are with such worry and stress.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Regardless, she’s happy to see a favor through.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She locates Commander Wolffe on the 9th floor, and as soon as she steps foot in his room he somehow has her number.  Even with half his face swathed in bandages, he pins her with his one available eye and knows what she’s about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...couldn’t leave well enough alone, could he?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla laughs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Not rudely (or so she hopes) but from surprise. She had arrived quietly, assuming he might be asleep if he wasn’t in a bacta tank. The nurse who’d pointed her down the wing hadn’t been particularly verbose after Aayla corrected her from “3636” to “Wolffe” - a fact she <em>has some thoughts about - </em>so she hadn’t known what to expect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> For his part, Wolffe takes her humor in stride.  Just tuts and nods like it’s telling him everything he needs to know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And ...perhaps it is? She’s not sure if it thrills or terrifies her that she doesn’t know just what Bly has or hasn’t told his brothers about her.  She makes a note to ask.  Maybe. </span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Their subsequent conversation is brief. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Wolffe treats it like a formal report, so Aayla takes his lead.  He is stoic and honest about his injuries but non-specific about the incident details. There is trauma there, and she knows better than to dig. It’s not for her to pry at.  She simply files away all that he does say in order to report it back to Bly with as much detail as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...could be ‘nother week, they’re sayin’,” his words start to slur a bit, and when he clears his throat against it Aayla catches the glare he shoots at his IV. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Are you alright?” She steps forward despite having decided to keep a respectful distance. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Mmhmm,” he clears his throat again. “Drugs just got me driftin’ in ‘n out more than I like…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I understand,” Aayla nods and catches her lekku twitching in a way that she hopes he can’t read as concern. “...artificial sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> His face twists into into something stern as he nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla has spent enough time in and out of The Liberty’s med bay to understand how sedatives and heavy painkillers can mess with the mind. Some of the men refuse them specifically because they don’t like being foggy or waking up disoriented.  Zig, the 327ths head medic, indulges that wish when he can, though she’s also witnessed him force the issue… ...then proceed to keep watch bedside all night so the patient wouldn’t wake up confused <em>and</em> alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...are they giving you a choice about that?” she frowns. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Maybe she’ll have words with that nurse after all. She <em>shouldn’t</em>.  She doesn’t have jurisdiction here - not really - but she <em>could...</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Ah,” Wolffe sighs and shrugs his shoulders around like he’s trying to get cozy ...but maybe he’s actually trying to move his body enough to stave off the drowsy feeling. “S’alright...this itches worse ‘n fuckin’ crotch rot if the meds wear off too much,” he gestures at the bandaged right side of his face. “Er…” he blinks his good eye. “...sorry…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But too late. He’s already slipped. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla just chortles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She’d had the same trouble with her men when she and the 327th first came together. Soldiers unsure what they could and couldn’t say in front of her - how far they were allowed to go. Time and exposure have assuage most of those worries. There is still a snap of formality when she enters a space, but it generally fizzles once her intentions are clear. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla has heard many stories about the Wolfpack from Master Plo, so she knows all about the genial culture he’s managed to cultivate with his own men.  But she is not one of them; she’s new and unknown. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Don’t worry,” Aayla makes sure to smile wide so it can’t be misunderstood. “The more inventive the swear, the better - or so I’ve learned.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Wolffe chuffs to hear that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m sure you get plenty of it… “</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m taking a few notes, yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He snorts again and scuffles himself around on the bed some more. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I can leave you to rest,” Aayla offers.  “Or...I can grab a seat,” she nods at the flimsy chair near the head of his bed. “Post up by the door for a while.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She doesn’t mean to suggest there’s anything to be threatened by, but he’d made his disdain for the medication obvious and she can’t be sure whether her being there is making that better or worse. She doesn’t dare reach out into the Force and prod at his discomfort; maybe he happily cedes that kind of access to Plo, but she’s nigh a stranger. Right motivations or no, it would be uncouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> So. She has to ask even if that’s bold.  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> He does, in fact, stare at her for it.  Long and hard - even with just the one eye to narrow. Scrutinizing every inch of her offer.  If he’s trying to intimidate her it doesn’t quite work, but his gaze does almost become unnerving. Still, she resists brushing against his thoughts to get a glimpse of his calculations. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You can say n--”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “No,” he rasps before she can finish. “I can handle ‘em here ...no one’s even on guard - <em>civilians</em>,” he rolls an eye and smirks. ”They’re a damn trip.”  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Like they are some wild species he’s observing here in their natural habitat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla doesn’t bother to squash her smile. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “They’re treating you alright then?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  Coruscant may be progressive in some ways, but there were a lot of differing opinions in this galaxy when it came to clones. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Mmm,” he nods in a bored fashion. “Top notch cybernetics, they say,” he taps the edge of his facial bandages. “So tell him I’ll be acing past him on the firing range any day now.  He should be <em>practicing</em>, not worrying like an old mother porg.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla chuckles. There’s warmth rolling from him - she doesn’t have to reach out at all to feel the affection - but finality in his tone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Copy that. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She takes a step toward the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...any message for General Plo? I’m sure he’s already able to check in on your progress, but I have a line to him,” she offers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Wolffe’s eyebrow twitches, but he otherwise keeps his face schooled. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “... ...no need to bother him,” he decides. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Hmm.  Even if she’s not willing to pry at his Force signature, she feels it prickle now. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Very well … ...I’ll just let him know I saw you, then.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> GAR Commanders might have their own favors and private communiques... so do Jedi. Plo hasn’t <em>asked</em> anything of her, but she’s here and has laid eyes on his wounded right hand; she can’t say nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “If you like,” he rolls one shoulder before resting back, this time with minimal fussing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...is there anything else?” she checks, pressing a <em>light, open</em> willingness toward him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> For though she understands if he wants to be alone rather than host someone so uncharted...she feels like she hasn’t done enough. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “No….thank you”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She has no choice but to believe him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s my pleasure...I’m happy you’re doing well.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Ah. I’m lucky,” he nods. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...and strong,” Aayla inclines in the tiniest of bows in return. “But I’ll leave you to your rest. Good night, Commander Wolffe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Sir”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla leaves still feeling like she hasn’t done enough...never mind she isn’t a doctor and there isn’t much for her <em>to</em> do. It isn’t a new feeling, really. Anytime they’ve finished pulling the wounded to safety and need to leave the triage surgeons to do their work, a helpless feeling accompanies her empty hands. Whenever they send a transport of men off to Kaliida Shoals for more longterm care, there is an anxiety of “what-if!”, “what-could-I-have-done-better?”, and “what-now?” she has to swallow down and release. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Here, tonight, she reminds herself that Wolffe is well and in good hands. Her wish for more is extraneous so she must let it go...along with a press of strength into the Force here for those who need it. It’s all that can be done in moments like this, when the worst has already happened and it’s up to someone else to do the repairing... </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p5">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Your Commander seems to think you’ve done enough,” Depa comments when Aayla’s comm <em>buzzes</em> a third time - or was it fourth? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> She’d sought Depa out when she arrived back at the Temple to assure her friend everything is, in fact, fine. Or relatively fine, as the case may be; she just didn’t want her old friend to be left worrying after her unceremonious departure. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Depa had been happy to invite her into her small quarters for a drink. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Her flat is set up identical to all those at the Temple, though the many dark, thick blankets and draperies are all Depa’s.  She deems Coruscanti’s atmosphere slightly wanting, and the Temple’s stone walls are little help, so though most of her belongings now reside on a star destroyer she’s left there personal items behind for her various returns to the temple. Practicality - a thing Aayla doesn’t mind one bit while she sits on the thin settee with one of the throws. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The Corellian whiskey in Aayla’s hand isn’t exactly standard issue, either, but is equally as welcome as any blanket.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “He does,” Aayla confirms after checking the message. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...I imagine Grey already knows, then. I tell him he should turn off non-emergency comms when we’re on leave, but he never does,” the woman’s smile is fond. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla pauses, and of course Depa catches that.  Calls her on it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s  nothing. I just ...didn’t know you were aware they talked”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Or even that their Commanders had come up together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Oh,” Depa snorts. “<em>That</em>. Well, let me tell you, Grey was more than a little flustered when I finally asked who his lover was…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla lowers the small glass from her lips in surprise. Bly sometimes tells her how his brothers are faring, but apparently she is only hearing the broadest strokes if she’s missed such news.  She tries not to ask too much because she never wants to treat the brothers’ discussions like information she has a <em>right</em> to. She doesn’t know what sacrosanct vows of secrecy have been made regarding their chatter and, anyway, Bly’s allowed whatever privacy he likes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Oh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">  “<em>No</em>,” Depa’s laugh is so lighthearted and airy that Aayla lets it wash through her and take her for a ride. “He was just always so <em>pleased</em> to hear from one of them that he couldn’t hide it if he tried ...but he never said anything, so I just formed a bit of an assumption.  I finally asked because I wanted him to know he didn’t need to <em>hide </em>anything<em>; </em>I would be supportive.But, well...” she holds up innocent hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla titters to think how Bly would have reacted if she’d asked him if he was messaging a lover ... ...of course, some of his embarrassment about such a thing would have been for quite different reasons. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I found out about it when Bly laughed aloud about some in-joke,” Aayla smiles at her own, less foot-in-mouth story. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “They can’t help themselves with each other, can they?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The look the two women share is bright with adoration and some mischief. They know the bonds forged between creche-mates.  What it means to share years of history and secrets. Distance can’t quite ruin it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s good,” Aayla says aloud what they both know. “That they stay in touch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Oh, of course,” Depa waves a hand to dismiss any suggestion that it could possibly be anything but.  “Kenobi calls it a <em>communication tool of gossip mongers,</em>” she mimics his crisp accent quite accurately, “but he has that smirk when he says it -- you know the one.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla nods. She does know. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Maybe he found out where he stands in the tallied ranking of Jedis losing their weapons…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> At this, Depa’s face lights up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’ve seen it?!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’ve requested to be updated from time to time - it’s good to know who I’m beating…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla side-eyes Depa to see if she, like Caleb, will receive a reprimand about <em>pride</em>.  It’s not pride, it’s just ….friendly competition, yes? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> But Depa does not chastise.  She gives a most solemn nod and offers out her class, which Aayla <em>clinks</em> against her own. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Grey is always so horrified,” the other women adds, and they both chortle together all over again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> And are interrupted by another <b><em>bzzerp </em></b>on Aayla’s official comm<em>. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Again?" Depa adjusts one of her braids with innocence. "...should you step out?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Aayla can sense something bubbly and <em>far too knowing </em>from her friend, so she refuses to look up and establish eye contact. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Not this time.  It’s Plo ...extending his thanks that I sent word.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>[General Plo K.] to: Private Message<br/>
</b>Good news, indeed<br/>
I’m grateful to hear you’ve spoken to him and he is well.<br/>
I’ve seen the updates from medical, but they are not the same<br/>
Many thanks from me and the men</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “...from The Wolfpack,” Depa amends after Aayla reads his message aloud and fires off a quick reply. “Caleb is jealous on Grey’s behalf - he’s been thinking of ways to name the a battalion after him.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “How’s that coming?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Grey pretends <em>very</em> <em>poorly</em> to hate the effort … but he’s still trying to find something that will stick.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “The thought counts”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Yes it does,” Depa gives her a pointed look. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Oh. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Yes, alright. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It matters that Aayla took the step to go see Wolffe even if he wanted exceedingly little from her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It matters that Bly asked her to go at all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> It’s a start.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>www.tumblr.com/blog/its-alltheway</p></blockquote></div></div>
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